As You Wish
by Rebecca Keys
Summary: Arthur is always bossing Merlin around, and he often jokes that Merlin is the worst servant he's ever had. What happens when Merlin takes that to heart and starts obeying everything Arthur says? Slash.


Light filtered in through the open window, illuminating the bed beneath the sill. The bed was dominated by a stack of wooly linens. Naked pillows were strewn about the room, their casings sacrificed to the linen heap. The blanket-mountain shifted, revealing its boyish occupant. The pile rose and fell with the motions of regular breathing, of the sort that comes when one is fast asleep and blessed with peaceful dreaming.

But Merlin wasn't sleeping. He was too preoccupied with generating heat. There was a terrible draft. He wrapped the covers more firmly about him.

Merlin hadn't gotten out of bed that morning. After all, what had been the point? His chores, Gaius, Arthur—they could all go stuff themselves. He wasn't any use to anyone in the state he was in. His body was sore in places he hadn't even known he'd had, and his head was throbbing. The rays that pierced the gloom of his room were akin to having pointed sticks driven into the back of his skull. Repeatedly.

It was the day after Arthur had dragged him along on a long and pointless hunt up in the forests of Grath. He, Arthur, and the hunting troop had hiked for hours through the snow; beating bushes, following trails of broken undergrowth, and examining tracks, all to no avail.

At one point one of the knights had gotten so frustrated with the troop's failure to catch anything that he'd sent three of their best spears flying off a cliff and into a pond. Arthur had been in fits, and sent _Merlin_ down to fetch them. It took a bit of searching, but Merlin had found them, eventually. At the bottom of the pond. In the dark. Right next to that row of dangerous-looking fishes with the glowing eyes.

Shivering, muck-sodden, and especially irritated, Merlin had climbed back to where the hunting party had been earlier, only to find that the troop had continued on without him. By the time he had caught up with them he had been covered in all manner of thorns, bruises, and bits of shrubbery.

By the end of the whole miserable affair, it had been far too late to draw up a bath; and anyway, he had been too exhausted to _care_ how filthy he was. Now, though… He scowled. He itched everywhere. There was a worrisome ringing sound in his right ear. It was chilly. His eyes were bleeding. No, he was simply imagining it. Surely?

He tried to summon the energy to roll off the mattress and onto the floor. He failed.

The wind began to blow more insistently, and, fed up, Merlin sent a wind of his own blasting in the general direction of the sill. The window shut with a loud bang. Merlin regretted it immediately. He covered his ears and whimpered.

"Merlin!"

Had Gaius's voice always been that shrill?

Merlin moaned pitifully into his pillow. "G'way…"

"Would somebody care to explain _why_ there are muddy footprints all over my study? And where on earth are my blankets?"

"S'doff, Goss. M'tired, fuhgodsake." When there was no immediate reply, Merlin resumed his imitation of death, and tried to ignore the cramps climbing up his neck.

A smart rapping at his bedroom door woke him some time later. Merlin tried to ignore it, but the rapping only grew louder, this time accompanied by a long round of hollering that Merlin was too tired to decipher. He thought he caught the words "disgraceful", and "acting like a child"—but he could have been imagining it.

_How rude_, Merlin thought, and stuck his head under the pillow. A pause, and the yelling resumed.

"MERLIN! I swear it, I shall have this door _removed_."

At some point Gaius must have left, because suddenly he was back and Arthur was with him.

"Merlin, you sluggish _oaf_. Has your brain leaked out of your ears?"

Merlin, for some strange reason, found himself giggling at the imagery. It was probably a sign that he had begun to let go of his sanity. With Arthur's next words, Merlin lost it completely.

"You call yourself a manservant? I nearly missed breakfast this morning, I hope you realize." Arthur assumed a pained expression. "I was _forced_ to make due with last night's scraps—which you neglected to clear up, by the way-- and some _bruised fruit_ that you left lying about from yesterday's breakfast. And--" There was a pause, and then: "What do you think _you're_ laughing at?"

Under normal circumstances, Merlin might have spent more time appreciating this unplanned and yet admittedly glorious turn of events. But before he knew it the door was gone, along with his amusement, and Arthur was glowering from the doorway. Merlin stared out at him balefully from beneath his pillow. Arthur glared back.

"You are my _manservant_, Merlin. And you look ridiculous. There's far too much work that needs doing for you to be wasting time just lounging about. My armor is not going to carry itself."

Merlin flinched.

If Arthur noticed, he gave no sign of it. "It is your job to _serve_ me. _That means_ when I am hungry in the morning, you are to fetch me breakfast and serve it to me _posthaste_. When my clothes are dirty, you will wash them, and gladly, without complaint. When my chainmail needs polishing, you polish. When my floors need scrubbing, by God, Merlin, you will _scrub_! Is it so much to ask for a little," he gestured with a finger and thumb, "obedience from you? Where's your courtesy? Where's your deference?"

Merlin had sat up during this little tirade and was watching Arthur very calmly. His mind, however, was in the midst of upheaval. He didn't know whether to be outraged at Arthur's complete disregard for his health, or--

"Well? Are you deaf, or just a complete idiot?"

--speechless at Arthur's suggestion that Merlin was lacking in consideration in _any_ way. After all the times Merlin had risked his life for him! After what Merlin had been forced to do just yesterday!

"I'm waiting for an answer, _servant_."

Merlin didn't know what to feel, either. Hurt, at Arthur's insults? Disappointment, that Arthur didn't realize how hard he worked, sometimes, just to please him? Or shame, toward himself, that there was so little that Arthur seemed to like about him? Mostly, he just felt tired. Much too tired.

Merlin stood, letting the blankets fall to the floor and ignoring the cold. If it was obedience Arthur wanted…

"Yes, Sire. Sorry, Sire." Merlin bent his head deferentially, giving a little bow and not meeting Arthur's eyes. "How may I be of service?"

Arthur stared at him, taken aback. He looked at him suspiciously for a long moment. "I suppose… Yes… That's much better…"

Merlin waited, and wasn't disappointed.

"Well, now that you've been kind enough to grace the day with your _presence_, I have a list of tasks for you to finish. I expect them to be done in time for Midday. First, you are to fetch some hot water, because while you were busy enjoying a toasty little cuddle-fest with the physician's curtains, it has been absolutely _freezing_ in my quarters. Oh, and I have a sword that's in dire need of sharpening, in case you've forgotten—"

Merlin let the words roll over him, eyes downcast. When Arthur was finished, he nodded.

"As you wish, Sire."

Arthur was reclining languidly in his chair, an air of vague disinterest plastered on his face. But on the inside, his thoughts were clouded with puzzlement.

Merlin had been acting rather strangely today, ever since that morning, when Gaius had told him that Merlin was too tired to get out of bed, and wouldn't be available for any work that day. Arthur had immediately been suspicious and gone to investigate, to find—to his surprise—that, yes, Merlin actually _had_ still been sleeping, which was strange, since Merlin normally never missed work, for any reason. So Arthur had lectured Merlin's ridiculous ears off, hoping to leave some sort of lasting impression on him this time. After all, Arthur's words normally seemed to have no effect on him whatsoever.

Afterward, Merlin had gone right to work, though with perhaps a bit less obstinacy than usual.

Which in and of itself was very… odd.

Arthur watched Merlin silently as he arranged the flowers on the table. He couldn't read Merlin's expression, which was closed off and bland. Arthur wasn't quite sure what to make of it. Merlin always wore his heart on his sleeve, which normally just irritated Arthur, but today he found himself wishing for some sign of… well, anything, really.

Yes, decidedly odd.

"Merlin, go fetch me some oil and my shaving blade. My stubble has grown to be a nuisance."

"As you wish, my Lord."

Merlin ducked under the door frame—just when had Merlin gotten to be so much taller than him?—and took his leave, presumably to where ever it was that servants kept the body oil.

And that was another thing. Ever since that morning, Merlin had been addressing him exactly the same way as all of the other servants did. No longer "It would be my pleasure, you Royal _Prat,_" or "Why don't you get it yourself, you lazy sod?" No, now it was, "Of course, Sire", and "Anything at all, for you, my Lord". It was simply revolting. Worst of all was the total absence of even a scrap of _Merlin_ behind any of it. Where was the sarcasm? The whinging? The witty banter?

The door opened a slice. "May I come in, Sire?"

Arthur rolled his eyes in exasperation. "Yes, you can come in, idiot. Or did I not order you to attend me?"

Merlin didn't look at him. "You did not, My Lord. You ordered me to fetch the oil and royal blades."

Arthur squinted at him. "Are you trying to make a fool of me?"

Merlin gave no answer, but came in and shut the door behind him.

"Because I swear, I will not tolerate it if you are."

"Of course not, my Lord." Merlin put the knife, wet cloth and water bowl on the table, then uncapped the oil and poured a healthy portion onto his hand. Arthur spread his arms and crossed one ankle over the other. Merlin approached him with the cloth and began to dab the oil onto Arthur's cheek.

Arthur noticed that his hands were shaking, and frowned, but said nothing. When he was finished spreading the oil, Merlin chose a blade from the table, and stared at Arthur.

"Is there a problem? You've done this countless times before."

Merlin shook his head, and pressed the cold knife's edge to Arthur's throat. He slowly eased the metal across his skin.

Some minutes passed, punctuated by the odd wince from Arthur. Each time this happened, Merlin would immediately freeze and ask if Arthur was alright, and at one point even dropped the knife, much to Arthur's bemusement.


End file.
